This isn’t him. Of course it isn’t him.
He doesn’t have the tattoos Nicolai did. My Nicolai had tattoos all along his neck, arms, shoulders, and back. This man wears a dress shirt, but there are fewer marks on his neck or hands than Nicolai had. He also looks so much older. Years older. He has short-cropped dark hair and a scruffy beard. Nicolai was clean-shaven and had a shaved head.
He isn’t him at all. He can’t be. Still, the resemblance makes my heart flutter in my chest before it sinks to the floor once more. He gives me one long, haunting look. And then he’s gone.
I can’t think about this right now. When I’m being led to a man who just bought me, I can’t think of Nicolai. I’ll never be able to get through this if I think of him.
We’re marched along a hall, and I realize as we walk that this ship is massive, some sort of luxury cruise ship, with multi-levels of floors, decorated with gleaming hardwood and crystal chandeliers. There are bars attended by formal bartenders on every floor, and brilliant outdoor lighting highlights a pool and several circular hot tubs outside on the main deck. After my months of captivity, this feels luxurious, with one caveat: I’m still someone’s property.
We’re brought into a large ballroom, and instructed to sit on the chairs lined in rows. Then one by one, the women are brought out, three guards to each woman. One on the left, one on the right, one behind her to make sure she doesn’t get away. I turn away in disgust. How could she? There is nowhere to go.
An eerie, utter silence descends upon us as our number dwindles. I was the last one auctioned. Will I be the last to be delivered? I can’t anticipate what will happen next, so instead I watch, as one after another, my companions are taken from our midst. Some still openly cry, but most of us sit in resigned silence. Punishment awaits defiance, and it seems foolhardy to earn that.
“You all should be proud of yourselves.” I look up to see the man from the office earlier standing in the doorway, smiling like an approving father. “You all fetched a pretty penny. You behaved very well.”
Proud? Of being worth more than the other stolen slaves? Is he mad?
I shiver in disgust, but my thoughts come to an abrupt halt when guards suddenly stand before me.
“Let’s go,” one says, as another silently reaches for me. I follow meekly. One holds my left arm and the other my right.
My legs won’t work. My knees knock into one another, full body tremors taking over my body.
“No,” I whisper, even though I know I will regret resisting. I shake my head, unable to move forward of my own accord.
“Yes,” one guard spits out angrily. “You should know by now what we expect.” His fingers cut into my arm, his too-long nails scraping my skin. I pull involuntarily away from him, but he only grips it tighter. The man on the other side steps closer to me. He, too, holds tighter than before. Between the two of them, they drag me away from the group of women. My toes drag along the floor, and I whimper. It hurts to be dragged by the arms, my shoulders and upper arms screaming in protest.
“Release her.”
I don’t look up. I can’t look up.
“Do as he says. He owns her now.”
It’s my future master addressing the guards, and I can’t risk anything at this moment. He stands a few paces in front of us, the very tips of his shoes the only thing I see.
The guards let me go as if I’m hot to the touch.
“Don’t you harm her, you fools,” the man in front of us snaps. “Do you wish to lose your job?”
“No, sir,” one says. The other falls silent.
Is my future master a kind man?
Dare I hope?
What even is kindness?
“Go to my room,” he orders me, gesturing down the long hallway. His voice sounds so familiar, I shiver with a visceral awareness. He sounds like Nicolai.
He stands to the side so I can’t see his face fully, but his instruction is clear.
I don’t know what’s the worse option, never again seeing Nicolai, or being forced to be in the presence of someone who reminds me of him.
I realize he’s dismissed the guards, and ordered me into his room alone. But he doesn’t come behind me. I walk into the open door, turn, and look down the hall.
I’m alone.
For the first time since my captivity, I’m completely alone. It feels… strange. No, worse. It feels wrong.
Unease floods me when I touch my wrists, free of cuffs. I expected I would feel different when finally freed from bonds. But I don’t.
My hands begin to shake and my breathing grows heavy. I try to still the trembling in my limbs, but I can’t. I look around the room for someplace safe—the metal bars of a cage. A confined space. A small piece of carpet for me to crawl onto. The room is beautiful, decorated in creams and golds, silken sheets and embroidered linens on the beds, but they may as well have thrown me in the middle of the ocean for all the comfort it brings.